Senses and Control
by Sailing Hearts
Summary: A case ends badly


Title: Senses and Control

Author: Sailing Hearts

Rating: K+

Characters: Watson and Holmes

Summary: A case ends badly.

Warning: The usual hurt Watson warnings.

Word Count: 1137

Author's Note: Submission for the Watson's Woes holiday fic exchange (2009). I hope whoever requested it likes it.

SENSES (Watson's Point of View)

The hidden knife had been too quick for either of them to react; but it was not really a desire to live that kept him straining for fiery splinter of air, but the knowledge that if he stopped Holmes would likely follow him into the next life, after hanging for murder. It burned as it slipped between his ribs into his lung. "Holmes," he gasped, drawing his friend's attention as he began to sway.

Watson's senses intensified with the pain. He felt Holmes' arms around him, gently lowering him to the ground. He heard the sound of fleeing footsteps as their quarry made his escape. He tasted the sharp tang of blood on his lips, from the lung that the knife had pierced. He could smell the refuse of the alley all around him. He saw the intense grey of his friend's eyes as he looked at him in concern. He heard the sharp tones, begging him to hold on. Then he knew no more as blackness took him.

He knew he was back from the land of dreams when his senses assaulted him with information again. He heard the sounds of voices – doctors, nurses and Holmes. He moved slightly, and felt the bandages wrapped around his chest. He tasted the fresh water that came from the cup held to his lips. He smelled the antiseptic used upon his skin. Opening his eyes, he saw again the intense grey of his friend's eyes, and read the relief in them.

"How long?" he whispered in a croaking voice.

"Two days, my dear fellow." Holmes replied, pulling a blanket up to cover his shoulders.

"How bad?"

"Punctured lung. The doctor thinks it might have collapsed, but they inflated it. You'll have a second scar from the tube they inserted as well as the scar from the knife."

Watson opened his mouth to ask another question, but Holmes shushed him.

"Sleep, Watson. You have been feverish with infection. You need your rest."

Watson didn't want to sleep. The morphine-induced dreams had involved his senses too. They had been full of the grit of sand, the taste of stagnant water, the cries of wounded and dying men, the feeling of heat and the piercing of Jezzel bullets through his flesh. The fact he was back in the hospital as a patient filled him with fear. He wanted to be home.

"Baker Street," he whispered.

A ghost of a smile crossed Holmes' lips. "As soon as I can convince your Doctors. I promise."

When next he woke, his senses gave him the information he had been longing for. The feeling of afgans piled on him and the settee under him. The smell of fresh baking wafting up from the kitchen. Violin music softly played in the background that faded away as he moved. He tasted fresh brewed tea as the cup was held to his lips. Opening his eyes, he saw the grey eyes, which betrayed his friend's happiness in that moment.

He asked the same questions:

"How long?"

"You've been home about four hours. It has been eight since you first woke in the hospital."

"How bad?"

"A week of convalescing, and then slow, careful activity for a while. Ansunther finally came, and agreed to take your case and let me bring you home. He will be around later this afternoon."

Watson sighed in relief and closed his eyes. He was home where he belonged. He could heal now.

He felt the heat as Holmes stirred the fire, and then heard the sound of violin music again. He went back to sleep, relishing the smell of Mrs. Hudson's baking and the comfort of familiar surroundings.

CONTROL (Holmes Point of View)

Holmes laid his violin down when he was certain Watson was asleep again. He had been very frightened when he had seen the flash of the knife as it was buried in Watson's side. He had taken a step towards the wielder until he had heard Watson mutter his name. He had then reined in his anger, quickly getting his control back. Luckily he had turned in time and caught his injured friend before he fell.

The cab ride to the hospital had seemed like and eternity. Watson never woke, but stanching the blood that seeped from around the handle of the knife had been beyond his control. Holmes didn't dare remove the knife. He knew enough from Watson's medical texts to realize it was a distinct possibility that the Doctor would bleed to death if he did.

Once they reached the hospital, Holmes had to relinquish control of Watson to the doctors and nurses. It had been hard watching them carry a pale Watson through doors that said "Do Not Enter" on them. He settled himself into a chair near the doors to do two things he was good at – waiting and thinking.

He pondered how he had lost control of the situation that had ended with Watson getting stabbed. He waited for Watson to come out of those doors, so he could begin to get some control of the situation again.

Several hours later Watson was brought out of the doors and taken down the hall to a room. Holmes followed, and then began to question the nurses. When the doctor came in, he questioned him as well. He needed data so that he could gain control of this impossible situation.

When Watson woke the first time, Holmes was finally able to take control of the situation. When Watson asked "How long," it was easy to answer. When he asked "How bad," it was not. How did you answer that Watson had almost drowned in his own blood? That his lung had collapsed? Holmes realized sugarcoating it was a bad idea, so he answered the question as clearly as he could.

At this point in the conversation he knew Watson was fighting sleep, so he tried to sooth him a little, to get him to sleep again.

When Watson whispered "Baker Street," Holmes smiled. That he could do for his friend. He could take him home. He made sure that when Watson next woke, he was on the settee in their setting room. The look of peace that crossed Watson's face when the Doctor realized he was home was worth the trouble it had been to move him. He answered his friend's questions, then began to play is violin again. As he watched Watson drift off to sleep, Holmes felt peaceful. He was completely in control of the situation again.


End file.
